


eagle in a sunbeam

by dicaeopolis



Category: Stormlight Archive - Brandon Sanderson
Genre: Alternate Universe - Dungeons & Dragons, F/M, M/M, Multi, mostly cause i couldn't think of a title and it's been stuck in my head for a month, the title is from Ride A White Swan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-23
Updated: 2019-09-23
Packaged: 2020-10-26 13:09:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,202
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20742722
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dicaeopolis/pseuds/dicaeopolis
Summary: So a fighter, a paladin, and a warlock walk into a bar...





	eagle in a sunbeam

**Author's Note:**

> [writes this in like 48 hours] [types it up and doesn't edit a word] [slams that MOTHERFUCKIN post button and turns to stare into the camera and make eye contact] Brandon Sanderson has me by the balls.
> 
> thoughts on races/classes are down in the endnotes ↓↓↓

Of  _ course _ the party is split when it happens.

They’re been staying in the city of Sadeas, mostly for the sake of its high ridge and the thunderstorm rolling in that night. After they took dinner in their camp, Dalinar had headed up to the ridge to commune with his patron amidst the thunder. Jasnah is taking advantage of the time to find the university’s wizards and challenge them to debates until the wee hours, and Lift disappeared towards Lord Sadeas’ manor around dinnertime with a wicked gleam in her eye.

Of the remaining three, Adolin was technically left in charge, but he can’t say no to Shallan, and Kaladin can’t say no to the two of them together, which is how they end up at a tiny tavern called the Laughing Chull. Adolin is pink in the cheeks and laughing at anything the little Herdazian barkeep says. Shallan, on Kaladin’s other side, keeps trying more and more colorful mixed drinks, though she doesn’t seem to be feeling a drop. The Laughing Chull is the kind of small tavern where the walls are papered with photos of B-list bards, the light is warm and golden from glowing spheres that float around the rafters, and the laughter flows as freely as the taps.

Kaladin should’ve known that this would spell trouble. He did, in fact. He’s spent most of the evening not drinking his beer, flicking his eyes from corner to corner as his party lets themself loosen up.

Adolin notices, the perceptive bastard. An arm wraps around Kaladin's shoulder, and Adolin's wine-breath is saying, "You're not a bodyguard anymore, Stormblessed. Relax a little, eh?"

"You're doing enough relaxing for all of us," Kaladin retorts. The paladin is fairly perfect - handsome, friendly, brilliant with his enchanted broadsword. But he's foolish in his confidence. It's Kaladin's task to keep their party alert. Safe.

“Nah, you’re just being paranoid.”

“Someone has to-”

"Oh, come on," their warlock interrupts. Shallan takes a swig of something silver and sparkly, and then turns her knowing green eyes onto Kaladin. "I can be sober in an instant, and Adolin's a brick wall. In this company, of any, you can rest easy." She nudges the silver thing towards Kaladin.

He hesitates. Shallan smiles at him, the same smile that melts Adolin like butter in the cast-iron.

Fortunately, Kaladin isn't quite so easy. He pushes the drink back.

Adolin scoots his stool closer, right up against Kaladin's. He is radiating warmth. "All right, then, what do you see in here that's got you so nervous?"

"The girl in the mask," Kaladin says immediately, voice pitched low. "She's been staring all evening. Not drinking."

"Maybe," Shallan says lightly, "it's because you're very attractive."

"Quiet," Kaladin tells her before he can process that. "Men in the booth wearing Sadeas colors-"

"We're in his  _ city-" _

"Woman with an enchanted blade-"

"As I myself carry-"

"Barkeep, could I have the full bottle of this silvery stuff?"

"-and the two in dark cloaks with insignia of the Ghostbloods," Kaladin finishes. There’s also the silver-blue pixie who’s been fluttering around after him for a few months - she grins up at him now from her perch on the bar, chin propped in her hands. But she’s made herself invisible to the rest of the party, choosing instead to tie Kaladin’s boots together once in a while and make silly comments that nobody else can hear. Subtly, he shoots her a scowl.

Adolin nods, very seriously. "And the fighter, warlock, and paladin at the bar? Would any of the aforementioned be able to take them in a fight?"

Kaladin hesitates. Glances at the woman in the mask. She's staring back.

And then - the flash of a knife.

Kaladin hits the floor, pushing Shallan down with one arm and pulling Adolin with the other. But the knife lands, quivering, in the booth with Sadeas’ men. The girl in the mask leaps up and pulls on her dark Ghostblood cloak as the men stand, and the other two Ghostbloods move to join her, hands already starting to gleam with magic. A crackle of green lightning shoots from one of them into a soldier’s chest. He falls back, stunned, as his compatriots roar and jump into the fight.

A picture frame crashes to the floor with a shatter of glass. Kaladin hisses, unsure which party member to throw his body in front of - but of course they’re fine, Shallan with her uncanny reflexes and Adolin in the light leather armor he usually wears beneath his enchanted Shardplate. Shallan even seems  _ fascinated  _ by the brawl breaking out of them, of  _ course. _ Kaladin hustles them to the other side of the bar, crawling behind stools, before the damn fighters finish each other off and turn to search for new targets.

The Herdazian is humming and wiping glasses, watching the fight with mild interest. “Back door,” he says down to the trio.

“Thanks,” Kaladin mumbles. They book it.

Out in the laley, a few cremlings flap up into the air, clattering with displeasure at the disturbance. They settle in the eaves of the doorway, though, because the rain is pounding down like the Almighty’s own tears. Thunder cracks, and lightning splits the clouds. On the ridge, Dalinar must be closer to his god than he’s ever managed before.

Adolin stares at the sky, mournful. “We were going to sleep in the  _ inn,” _ he sighs, reaching out an upturned palm to catch heavy droplets. Adolin, raised in a manor himself, has never quite gotten used to the elements.

“We can walk,” Kaladin says shortly. Their camp is a good four miles away. “Let’s get going-”

“Oh, don’t be silly,” Shallan interrupts. “I have a patron for a reason, you know.”

Kaladin grits his teeth. He  _ hates _ dealing with Shallan’s patron. “There’s really no need for-”

They disappear into a swirling void of dark lines and buzzing, horrible cackles.

When they drop out of the darkness, Kaladin is shuddering.

He recovers in time to cock an  _ I-told-you-so _ eyebrow at Shallan. Pattern has dropped them directly into their tent, a snug canvas structure musty with the smell of the party and mess of wool blankets and bedrolls. Adolin pulls a small glass orb from his pocket and murmurs a few words. The orb starts to glow, and Adolin rises to his knees to place it in the holder at the peak of the tent. The pixie flutters around it like a moth, hugging herself for warmth.

In the light, Shallan looks at least a little abashed. “I - oh, don’t give me that look, you know we could’ve handled it even if we’d been the targets.”

“Or we could’ve not  _ had  _ to.”

Adolin peeks out the tent flap, then retreats inside swiftly. “It’s stormin’ storming out there. Kaladin, you were right, I’ll say as much.” Kaladin grunts. “But I do still wish you would drink with us.”

Kaladin shrugs. He isn’t mad - it’s no rare occurrence that he pulls the three of them out of scrapes, even after he stopped being their hired guard. But he’d far rather be here, sheltered from the storm and the dangers outside, secure that Adolin and Shallan are safe and warm in the gentle golden glow of the orb. “We don’t keep alcohol here anyways.”

Shallan clears her throat. The two men turn to look at her.

“Actually…” she says, pulling something from her sleeve.

Adolin brightens immediately and accepts the proffered bottle of the silvery stuff. “Shallan, you clever fox! Come on, Stormblessed - drink with us now?”

Shallan scoots closer to Kaladin and rests her chin on his shoulder. “Please?”

Shallan being genuine is as dangerous to Kaladin as her smooth, honeyed words are to Adolin. And Adolin offers him the silvery stuff with a smile like an invitation in, and, well - they  _ are _ safe, right now…

\----

The bottle is empty at their feet, and the orb’s charge has dimmed, then faded out entirely. Kaladin normally sleeps next to the tent flap, between his party and the world. Tonight, with Dalinar’s wards holding strong, he has allowed himself to be coerced into the middle of the tangle of bedrolls, thick wool blankets, Shallan’s slight frame, and Adolin’s broad one.

(“If you’re middle spoon, you can protect us both equally,” Shallan had pointed out.

Kaladin had narrowed his eyes at her, not too thick with drink to miss the smoothness of her tone. “You’re, you’re using my instincts against me.”

“Someone has to,” she had said blithely, and tucked herself into his side.)

Now, the other two are fast asleep. Shallan is curled tight against him. Adolin has sprawled out with a leg tossed over Kaladin’s. The pixie, thankfully, is gone for the time being, though he’s sure she’ll be back.

Kaladin is wide awake. It’s been hours since they finished the silver bottle, and so the turning in his head can’t be blamed on drink, only thoughts.

(Earlier, as the bottle ran dry, Adolin had shed his leather armor for the pair of loose pants he sleeps in. His chest, his shoulders, his arms were gleaming perfect in the magical light. Kaladin’s eyes had trailed over him.

He had felt Shallan’s gaze on him, and turned to scowl at her knowing look, but he hasn’t got a leg to stand on, really. Also, looking at Shallan had been a mistake. She was sprawled out over their bedrolls, still fully clothed but with her hair spilling around her flushed smile.

Kaladin had mostly focused his efforts on breathing. He himself had been… well, tipsy. Not drunk, no. His guard’s instincts haven’t faded  _ that _ much. But, enough. Enough to look at what he knew he shouldn’t.)

Kaladin’s guard’s instincts might be fading, but he’s still a fighter, his ranger level aside. Still bound to protect his party. He should be iron, unbreakable, not - not - not unable to sleep for awareness of warm skin against his own. Shallan’s soft red hair tickling the crook of his neck. Adolin’s arm thrown out over their heads, the musk of his armpit too close to Kaladin’s nose, too  _ Adolin _ for him to even mind.

Adolin snorts in his sleep and shifts closer to Kaladin, unconsciously seeking warmth.

Kaladin does not care for touch, as a general rule. There’s no stopping these two, though. He’s sure of it.

Though he’s never actually  _ asked _ them to. Never shrugged off Adolin’s arm around his shoulders. Never stopped Shallan from tucking her feet under his thighs. They - they need his body heat, alright. Though it’s summer right now. And Adolin runs hotter than he does. They-

It’s not that Kaladin disdains the mortal desire for touch. It’s just the simple fact that fighters have no prerogative to be  _ mortal. _

“I can feel you thinking,” Shallan murmurs.

Kaladin startles. Stormin’ - of  _ course. _ Shallan only trances half as long as they sleep. She’s usually already up when Kaladin stirs in the morning. Not doing anything useful like starting breakfast, no. Always sketching - Dalinar’s eyes glowing white as he communes with the Stormfather, Lift grinning through a half-chewed mouthful of stolen chouta, Kaladin in the dawnlight with a frown wrinkling his forehead even in sleep.

“Don’t worry about it,” Kaladin answers, voice pitched low to let Adolin sleep.

“‘Kay,” says Shallan. Her elven eyes are luminous in the darkness.

Kaladin narrows his eyes. That was  _ far _ too easy.

Ah - there it is. Shallan shifts closer, noses into the crook of his neck. Her breath is slightly ticklish. Kaladin shudders head-to-toe before he can stop himself - and then freezes.

“It’s okay,” Shallan whispers, sending goosebumps across his shoulders.

“It’s not,” Kaladin says. He sounds kind of strangled.

“Do you want me to stop?”

She would, if he asked. She doesn’t move as Kaladin gingerly loosens his grip on his  _ want. _ His body is completely still when he glances down at it through the darkness, but he would swear that he’s trembling.

“No,” he whispers finally, raw.

Shallan, for once in her life, doesn’t tease him. She presses her lips against his neck: dry, close-mouthed, but enough of a kiss to draw another shiver out of him. Her hand finds his, tender enough that he  _ aches _ as she kisses the underside of his jaw.

She pauses. Involuntary distress bursts from Kaladin’s throat.

He groans at himself as Shallan shakes with silent laughter. “Quiet, you-”

“Never,” she mumbles, and bites him. Kaladin inhales sharply. He’s been bitten to hurt before, but this - gentle teeth on a patch of skin just below his ear, nibbling and then biting down to suck a dark mark into his deep green skin-

“I can see you blushing,” Shallan whispers when she breaks away.

Shit. Darkvision. Kaladin throws his arm over his burning face and rolls onto his side away from her. “Damn elves -  _ haah-” _

Shallan hums against the nape of his neck, where she’s busily leaving another mark. She’s pressed flush against his back, with a hand draped over his hip and resting lightly against his abdomen. She tugs down the collar of his shirt, kisses gently along his bare shoulder.

Kaladin’s head tilts back, allowing her easier access. When she nips at him a few times, he has to press his mouth into his palm to stifle its whimpers, hold his frame stiff to restrain its tremors.

“Oh, don’t stay quiet on my account,” Adolin remarks at normal volume, sounding wide awake.

Kaladin hisses in surprise, and then cuts himself off with a choked noise as Shallan digs her fingernails into the inside of his hips. He - he has  _ control _ over his body, damn it, he shouldn’t be so suddenly sensitive when  _ touch _ means  _ gentle. _ “I-” Shallan licks a long stripe from his collarbone to his jaw. Kaladin interrupts himself with a fluttery, half-smothered moan.

_ She’s showing me off, _ he realizes, and swipes his tongue over dry lips.

The blankets rustle, and Adolin’s voice is closer. “Can I-?”

Kaladin’s heartbeat thunders in his ears. He isn’t sure if he can handle it - he’s already shaking apart off Shallan’s lips alone. But, by the Almighty-

“Kaladin?” Adolin prompts, gentle.

“Please,” Kaladin rasps.

Adolin kisses him.

His lips are dry, breath musty from sleep. He kisses confident and firm, swallowing the gasps Shallan is wringing out of Kaladin with her teeth on the shell of his ear. Adolin draws away for a moment to lean over and kiss her. Kaladin listens to the noises of their lips above him and wonders how long he’s neglected to notice  _ that. _

“You taste of him,” Shallan murmurs to Adolin, as if she isn’t speaking words specifically designed to take Kaladin apart. Her hand has slid beneath his pants hem, fingers threading into the stray curls of hair.

Adolin is grinning when he ducks back down to kiss Kaladin again. Deeper, this time, with a tongue that tastes of Shallan in turn. And then Shallan is tugging off Kaladin’s shirt, and Adolin is kissing at his bare chest and-

“Is this okay?” Adolin asks Kaladin’s sternum.

_ “Yes,”  _ Kaladin grits. It’s  _ too much, _ too much heat in his veins, too much bare skin on his, too much  _ desire  _ pulsing in the pit of his stomach-

No, no, Kaladin can handle desire. He’s been managing this  _ need _ just fine. But  _ requital _ \- requital, he could  _ drown _ in.

Adolin sucks on one nipple, rolls the other between his fingers. And then Shallan has to bite the back of Kaladin’s neck to hold him in place, because he’s crying out, arching, caught between the two like a pinned butterfly. Adolins’ thigh presses between Kaladin’s, and Kaladin is too overwhelmed not to jerk down against it. Shallan’s grasp on his hips guides him into an even roll. When she scatters kisses and nips over his angel bones, Kaladin moans, hips stuttering to the steady rhythm of Adolin’s lips.

_ “Almighty,”  _ he manages to wheeze out.

Adolin releases his nipple to say, “Don’t bring my patron into this,” in a satisfyingly breathy voice. Kaladin, with effort, does not grab his head and pull it back to his chest.

Fortunately, he doesn’t have to. Shallan says, “Here - on your back,” tugging him towards her and over. Kaladin turns further, half on top of her, and presses his lips to hers, desperate to express what he can’t say.

She catches his kiss, rises onto an elbow, and presses him down again without breaking contact. Against his lips, she whispers, “You look good on your back.”

Kaladin keeps forgetting that she can see all this.

He sucks in a breath as Adolin shifts down and sets about leaving a hickey on his hipbone. Every time Adolin is close, Kaladin notices - can’t  _ help _ but notice - how much bigger Adolin is. As a half-orc, he has the height advantage, but where Kaladin is lean and wiry, Adolin is broad and confident in it. His hands, for example, wrap around Kaladin’s hips with ease and lift them slightly. Kaladin bites down on his lower lip, and Adolin takes him in, sucking lightly.

Oh, Stormfather, it’s  _ too much. _ He manages to stifle his whimpers for only a few minutes before he’s gasping low into the hot, heavy darkness. Shallan muffles his noises. His body responds without permission by arching up off the wool, hands fisted into the blankets. She kisses him open and wet, with one hand on his nipples, scrambling any control he has over his own shudders.

Adolin takes Kaladin’s hand and squeezes it as he sucks him down. Kaladin comes down his throat.

When he’s done with pulsing and gasping and generally embarrassing himself, Adolin pulls off him. He manages to make licking his lips look reverent. Shallan is staring down at him like he’s something to eat. One hand is busy down the front of her skirt.

“Let me,” Kaladin croaks, pushing his hair out of his eyes and reaching out. “Please.”

She hears the urgency in his tone, swings one leg over his chest, and tugs up her skirt as he pulls her to his face.

When  _ she _ finishes, leaving a shiny slick down Kaladin’s chin, Adolin gasps. Shallan flops down on her back next to Kaladin, and when Kaladin looks down, his eyes have adjusted enough to spot the sheepish tilt to Adolin’s shoulders.

“Sorry,” he says, “you two sound good together.”

“Get up here,” Shallan demands. Which is good, because there’s not a chance in Damnation that Kaladin would’ve been able to ask. Adolin wipes down quickly (with Kaladin’s shirt, great) and then joins them on his side of Kaladin. (He has a  _ side. _ Stormfather.)

“Don’t overthink this, Stormblessed,” he mumbles into Kaladin’s arm. His free hand traces idle patterns over Kaladin’s stomach, then intertwines with Shallan’s over his sternum.

“That might be impossible, Kholin,” Kaladin says quietly.

“Then think about how we’re the only people who could handle each other anyway,” Shallan yawns. “Dream about it, actually.”

“You  _ just _ finished trancing,” Kaladin begins. But she’s already stretching and then snuggling down into her blankets again, eyes pointedly closed. Adolin’s breathing is already slow and steady - of  _ course _ he’s the type to pass out right after.

Since neither of them can see it, Kaladin permits himself one small, soft smile as he, too, drifts off.

**Author's Note:**

> i am on the [big](https://twitter.com/medeawasright) [blue](https://dicaeopolis.tumblr.com) websites
> 
> Dalinar is a dwarven barbarian (berserker path) who converted to a cleric of the Stormfather but he's low wis and doesn't have many cleric levels so he's still kinda figuring it out (eventually he'll be tempest domain). he's the Fuckup Whisperer who brought the party together
> 
> Kaladin is a half-orc paladin (oath of devotion) who thinks he's a fighter cause he doesn't know who Syl is yet. picked up a rank in ranger along the way. got hired as a bodyguard after Dalinar went clericwards and then became kind of permanent but he's still not really over it. his ability scores seem weirdly high but he's actually fairly average on everything except cha, it's just that he doesn't know when he's doing magic. and half-orcs don’t have darkvision in this AU due to.......I forgot
> 
> Adolin is a human fighter (champion archetype, dueling style) who thinks he's a paladin but is actually just wielding a lot of magical weapons/objects. low int high wis. dalinar's adopted son who's a solid two feet taller than him.
> 
> Shallan is an elven warlock (patron is Pattern), magic based off the bardic College of Whispers. she tells most people she's a rogue to avoid suspicion (and actually does take a rank in rogue once the Veil stuff starts). low wis high int
> 
> Jasnah is a tiefling wizard (school of transmutation) with +5 int and like. 0 cha and only that much bc racial bonuses
> 
> Lift is a gnomish rogue (arcane trickster archetype), high int and dex but SO squishy, more wis than people realize


End file.
